


The Change

by apolesen



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alien Biology, Cardassians, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy complications, See notes for full tw list, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: Enabran Tain has left for his country estate, leaving his young housekeeper in charge of the town-house. Alone in the residence, Mila feels something changing. Her body is no longer her own, and her life will never be the same.





	The Change

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: abusive relationships, physical and emotional abuse, pregnancy. References to rape, threats of deadly violence, mentions of abortions performed by laypeople.

Mila had never liked sleeping in Tain’s bed. Most of the times, their trysts would be short affairs in unconventional places – the divan in the sitting-room, the bare kitchen floor or over his desk. They were short and to-the-point. They were both unsentimental people, and neither had time to waste. Mila had a household to run, and Tain had ambitions within the Order. 

But whenever Tain was about to leave town, things would change. As if to make up for the time they would not have together, he would take her to his bed. It would go on for hours. Often, he would slam into her hard enough to make her feel raw and shaky. In rare moments of unguarded tenderness, he would lean down to lick her throat and brush his _chufa_ against her neck-ridges, but those times were few and never lasted long. Tain fucked like a man who was used to danger. He would seldom allow her to be on top, preferring instead to be able to pin her down whenever he felt the need. At times, he would turn her around and take her from behind, but he would never allow her hands to be out of his sight. Sometimes he would hold her arms down, as if to make sure a knife would not magically appear in her grip. 

That morning, Mila woke feeling like she had overslept. She was too hot, the sheets and Tain’s body both insulating her from the cool morning air. With distaste, she moved her legs and winced at the mess left on them. When her thigh brushed against the scales around her _ajan_ , she bit her lip to stop the sound of pain escape. She wondered if she would have bruises. 

At her side, Tain was asleep, his arm still thrown over her. The limb was a dead weight, pinning her in place. Carefully, she edged out from under it. The cooler air was a shock. Even if she had felt overheated before, she started dressing quickly, hoping to conserve some of the heat. She put on last night’s underwear – she would change later – and hurriedly pulled on her petticoats and vest. There she paused, looking around for the stays that had been discarded at some point that night. 

With no warning, she was grabbed and pulled down. 

Mila screamed in surprise. Her mind caught up quickly, realising what was going on, but she still twisted around and broke Tain’s grip. He was grinning. 

‘Where are you sneaking off to?’ 

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ she said. She was about to get up again and put on her stays, but Tain caught her wrist. He did not grab it, just shape his fingers into a circle that she could not break out from. She went still – she knew better than to struggle. 

‘You make it worth waking up, even on a day like this.’ Tain guided her closer and ran his tongue up the ridges to her ear. Despite herself, she shivered. ‘Shall we stay in bed all day, Mila?’ 

‘You have to leave in an hour and a half,’ Mila said. 

Tain lay back to see her better. 

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ 

She had never been to the country estate. It sounded like it was very beautiful, but she knew this was not a real invitation. She wondered what would happen if she said yes, but knew better than to ask. 

‘Someone needs to take care of the house, sir,’ Mila said. ‘I couldn’t neglect my duty.’

‘Hmm, you’re right, unfortunately,’ said Tain. ‘I’ll miss you, Mila. It’ll be three lonely octads. And Renora won’t be much help. You know, sex with that woman is like fucking a plank.’ 

‘I’m sure you will make do, sir,’ she said. It was all she could think to say. She did not particularly like hearing about Tain’s wife. It was not jealousy – she was under no illusions about what her relationship to Tain was. She just did not like to be compared to his wife, as a woman or as a bedmate. Mila did not seek to replace her, and did not want to be her. Renora Tain seldom came to town, and during the five years since Mila went into service there, she had only met her a handful of times. She seemed a wraith, always silent and frequently gravid. However much Tain proclaimed his distaste for her, he did not seem to hesitate to fulfil his marital obligations. Mila had heard that his wife was nesting again, and the youngest child was only now being named. 

Tain’s thoughts must have drifted there too. 

‘It’ll be another daughter, I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘I wonder what I’ve done to deserve it. Must have displeased some ancestor.’ 

As quickly as he had grabbed her, Tain let go. His mood had shifted. 

‘Fetch me my breakfast. I have work to do before leaving.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ Mila got off the bed and found her stays. She put them on hastily, pulled her dress over her head and grabbed her socks and shoes. She curtsied to him, but he did not notice. He had taken a PADD from the bedside table and was making notes, still nude in bed. Without another word, Mila left. She ducked into the bay window opposite the door to put her socks and shoes. She put her hair up as she made her way downstairs.

When Mila came into the kitchen, the pantry door was open. 

‘Skotar?’ 

Tain’s chauffeur, already in his livery, stuck his head out from the pantry. 

‘Get out of there. What do you think you’re doing?’ 

‘I was hungry,’ Skotar said, stepping out. ‘Is there anything to eat?’ 

‘Nothing yet,’ Mila said reservedly. ‘Not before I’ve warmed Master Tain’s fish-juice.’ 

‘Isn’t there _anything_?' Skotar said, coming over and leaning against the bench where she was collecting the ingredients. ‘Not even for me?’ He smiled at her and made his eyes wide in an attempt to look charming. She pushed him aside to get to the pans. ‘Oh come on Mila! Do you know how long the drive to Rokan is? I can’t do that on an empty stomach!’ 

‘And you won’t,’ Mila said. ‘I’ll make you some fish-juice too, but not until after I’ve made Tain’s.’ 

Skotar gave a theatrical sigh. 

‘I don’t think you love me anymore, Mila.’ 

‘I never have,’ she told him. ‘Now please leave – you are in my way.’ 

He left, but not before touching her shoulder amicably. Now that he was not looking, Mila allowed herself to smile. It would be a lot quieter when he was in Rokan, but she thought she might miss him, almost as much as she would miss Tain. 

She concentrated on the task at hand, heating and seasoning enough fish-juice for one. Tain preferred his boiled with a stick of _toma_ bark, which Mila had never cared for. Today, the fumes were bad enough to make her nauseous. It must have been a particularly potent piece of the bark, she thought. She could still smell it when she stepped aside to prepare the tray. Even as she poured it in a bowl and covered it with a lid, the smell cloyed at her throat. It was bad enough that she felt close to gagging. She carried it upstairs. On the landing of the stairs, she stopped to collect herself. She turned her head to the side and took a deep breath, as far away from the tray as possible. Holding her breath, she continued. By the time she reached Tain’s door, she had to exhale. With her next breath, she again caught the scent of the _toma_ -seasoned fish-juice. Pushing through the nausea, she knocked on the door and stepped in. 

‘Sir.’ 

Tain grunted in response. He was in his dressing-gown, working at his desk. Mila crossed and put the tray on the desk beside him. He did not look up from what he was reading. She curtsied and left. 

She returned to the kitchen to warm the fish-juice for Skotar and herself. He chatted happily as he drank it. She could barely stomach hers. Her mind kept wandering to _losha_ beets. She usually hated them – oddly sweet, purple beets that her mother would cook only when everything else had run out. Now, they felt like just the thing, perhaps with a sprinkle of salt on a piece of bread… Perhaps she would get some at the market as a treat, if they had them. When she had finished half the bowl of fish-soup, she left it and went to take care of Tain’s packing. By now, he had left his bedroom, but a few times, he came inside to fetch something. He did not speak or even acknowledge her. She did not mind – she did not want more distractions today. 

She brought the bags downstairs. Outside, Skotar was washing down the skimmer, humming to himself. When he saw her on the porch, he stopped. 

‘Just leave them there. I’ll take them.’ 

‘By no means,’ she said, stepping off the porch and approaching the skimmer. When he reached for them, she made a wide arc around him. His hands were covered in soap-suds. ‘Just open the back for me.’ 

‘Whatever you say.’ Smiling, he opened the back and let her put the bag inside. As she closed it, he asked: ‘Won’t you be lonely here?’ 

‘No. I’ll actually get things gone, without you talking my ear off.’ 

Skotar grinned. 

‘I’ll miss you too, Mila.’ 

She gave her a withering look, then handed him the towel she had tucked in her apron-cord. He wiped the suds off his hands, then looked towards the house. 

‘I think he’s coming down.’ 

Mila took the towel back, stuffed it into her apron and went inside. She stepped inside just as Tain reached the bottom of the stairs. 

‘I trust you to keep the house in order, Mila.’ 

She smiled. 

‘Naturally,’ she said. He touched her chin and smiled back. Then his hand fell. He turned away from her and stepped outside. He did not look back at her or offer any more words before he climbed into the skimmer. Skotar closed the door after him. He glanced at Mila for a moment, but did nothing more than smile a little. Then he too got into the skimmer. Mila stood, hands clasped and back straight, watching them pull away from the house. 

The skimmer disappeared out of sight. She unclasped her hands. A feeling of relief was spreading through her. As she stepped inside, the house was quiet, the usual tenseness it held completely gone. Mila bolted the door and made her way towards the kitchen. In the middle of the hallway, she stopped. A chill had come over her – a draught from the door, no doubt. She continued downstairs, mentally making a list of her chores.

***

Mila woke at the crack of dawn as she always did. On an ordinary day, she would get up at once and get dressed, but today, she did not rush. There was no breakfast to make or clothes to lay out. She was alone in the house. Even knowing it made her feel isolated. It was like there was only her in her small room, and beyond these four walls was nothing, for miles and miles.

She rolled onto her back and stretched. She ached, like she had been in the same position too long. Indulging her solitude, she pulled the blankets up over her nose. The heating should have turned on around the time she woke and raised the temperature of her room, but it felt far too cold. The blanket had trapped enough heat to be comfortable, but even that did not feel warm enough. Mila rubbed her feet together to try to create some warmth, but it did no good. She sighed to herself and got up. There were too many chores already without having to deal with faulty heating. 

Not wanting to touch the floor more than she needed, she walked on her toes over to the control panel by the door. She had expected it to display an error sign, but instead, the panel looked just like it always did. If it was to be believed, the heating was working perfectly and the temperature was high enough. Mila inserted a command to recheck the system. It only took a few seconds before confirmation that the system was working appeared. 

The floor felt too cold. She returned to the bed and pulled her feet up. This did not make sense. This temperature was the one it always was in the mornings – it should not feel too cold. Perhaps this was a fever response. She felt tired, but not enough to have a cold. To be sure, she pushed her fingers against her throat, but she found no swollen glands. She should be relieved – she could not afford to be ill – but it just made her nervous. 

In an attempt to make the cold go away, she decided to have her bath at once. The heat from the water helped, even easing the ache in her back. Once she got out of the tub, she dressed quickly, trying to keep as much of the heat from escaping. After breakfast, she settled down to polish the silver, but kept close to the heater.

***

Next morning, it was worse. She was so cold she felt lethargic, and her back throbbed. The only reason she did not stay under the blankets was how urgently she had to relieve herself. Once she had, she went to turn up the heating in her room and in the kitchen. She felt nauseous and bloated. Perhaps she was coming down with something after all. Giving in to the temptation and hating herself for it, she lay down for a little while longer. She made a mental list of everything she had to do. The silver had to be finished. After that there was the curtains that had to be taken down, looked over for damage and washed. The carpets needed to be whipped. She should take the opportunity to air out all of Tain’s bedding, now that he was away. There was a pile of clothes that needed mending and altering. She needed to make pickles and jams for the colder seasons.

All her body felt good for was lying here, curling up as close to the heaters as possible, but it would not do. She had things to get done. If she had not finished everything she should have once Tain came home, she knew what would happen. Her sense of duty made her sit up, but it was fear of her master that made her get off the bed. When she dressed, she found she could not close her stays. However much she breathed out and tried to pull the garment tighter, she could not hook it together. Eventually, she put them back in the drawer and put on the rest of her clothes without them. 

As the day passed, she felt she should maybe have been kinder to herself. The back-ache started up again. The chemical smell of the cleaning-agent stung her throat and brought back the nausea. She left the silver for later and went to take down the curtains in Tain’s study. She carried the ladder from downstairs without trouble and set it up by the windows. She held on tighter than usual, afraid she might get dizzy, but she did not. Without incident she hooked down the curtains and draped them over her arm. When she climbed down, she only held on with one hand. It was as if the feeling had waited until her feet were on the floor before striking. Once she was off the ladder, she felt like something had sucked her energy away. She leaned against the ladder, grabbing the curtains hard. Her knees felt like they were about to buckle. Slowly, she turned around and sat down on the rungs of the ladder. She gathered up the curtains in her arms. They were not allowed to touch the floor, just like she was not allowed to sit in this room. The chair at Tain’s desk was within reach, and the thought of sinking into it was seductive, but she would not. She waited out the exhaustion. Even when she felt that she could stand, it took her much longer than it should have to fold the curtains together and take the ladder down. Back in the kitchen, she sat down on the stair and put her head down against her knees. _Something is wrong with me._

But that did not matter. What mattered was her chores. She got up and set to inspect the curtains for damage.

***

It should not have taken her so long to realise what was happening to her. Once the thought crossed her mind, it was obvious, but it was not until the third day of Tain’s absence before it did.

When she woke, freezing despite the heat and aching all over, her first thought was: _this is not my body._ It did not move like it used to, and positions that used to be comfortable made her hurt. Her skin itched, almost like she was about to shed, and she felt heavy, as if something was lodged inside her. Last night, she had wondered if she might have a stone or a cyst that was pushing on her bladder. Now, she opened her eyes and knew with a certainty that should not be possible that that was not what was happening. It was much worse. 

She went to draw a bath. It was usually a luxury she would not allow herself this often, but she needed it now. The water was scaldingly hot, but it was a relief to sink into it. She lay back, trying to get comfortable. The tenseness did not want to disappear altogether, but little by little, it started to let go. Mila tried to put out of her mind what this was about. Then she took a few deep breaths and put her hand on her stomach. 

She had been fourteen when her mother had taken her hand and pushed her fingers against her belly. Mila’s fingers had pushed into her mother’s abdomen until they would not go any further. _Do you feel that?_ she had asked. _That’s how you know. But you can’t tense up when you do it, or you can’t tell._

Mila pressed her fingers against her stomach, a little over her _chuva_. Her instinct was to tighten her muscles, but she made herself keep breathing. Her fingers pushed further until it hurt. 

She had hoped she would not find it, but there it was. Deep inside her, she could feel something hard and curved. There was still some give to it, but it was undeniably what she had felt when her mother had shown her. That was the shape of an egg. 

The heat which had felt so comforting now made her get out of the bathtub. Her mind was racing. This wasn’t a fever-response. It was her body needing the heat for the extra work it was doing. She was not sure, but it made sense to her that in the same way that heat made a Cardassian’s heart beat harder and their breathing come faster, it made her body create the shell. When she looked herself in the mirror, she could see how the form of her belly was different. No wonder she had not been able to put on her stays yesterday. 

How long gone was she? The days before Tain’s departure had been eventful. Any of those times could have been when it had happened. It must be less than an octad, but there was no way to be more specific. She did not see how it had happened. – she had taken her shots as prescribed. At least, she had thought so, but something must have gone wrong somewhere.

Wrapping herself in her towel, Mila sat down on the floor. She tensed her jaw and held her breath, but the tears came anyway. Even with no one else in the house, she put her hand over her mouth. It made no difference. The sound of her weeping filled the small room. The sobs made her body shake. All she could think was _he’ll kill me._

She did not know how long she sat there. She wept until her eyes hurt and the skin of her cheeks smarted from the salt. When she was all out of tears, she put her head back and breathed. She could not spent her day sitting on the bathroom floor doing nothing. Gravid or not, there were tasks to perform. 

She washed her face and went to get dressed. All through the day, as she washed and mended curtains and tended to the flowers, she tried to think of a solution. The one thing she knew for sure was that Tain could not know. She should probably say a prayer of thanks to the ancestors that this happened now, when he was away. Without thinking, she touched her clavicle where a fine scar ran. That had been the first time he had beaten her enough to break a bone. It had been bad enough that a bone-knitter had not been enough, but the doctors had had to operate. There had been other incidents, of course, as violent and more recent, but it was that first time that she still thought of when reminding herself of what Tain could do. If he learned she was carrying an egg, his rage would be worse than it had ever been. 

She had to make sure he did not find out. The most obvious way was to go see a doctor, but she had no way of contacting one without Tain’s help. She had heard there were people who would do such a procedure for a price, but she had no money of her own. Taking it out of the household account was out of the question – she might as well tell Tain outright. Her brother would probably send her the funds if she asked him, but Tain might find out. Even if there was a way around that, she did not know if the money would arrive in time. She had to find some other solution. In the outskirts of the village where she had grown up, there lived a woman who they said gave mothers a drink made from black-nettle and archon’s hood to make them miscarry. During her service to Tain, Mila had learned that archon’s hood was poisonous, and black-nettle, if picked at the right time, could cause seizures. Perhaps those two ingredients could make someone lose an egg if given in the right quantities, but Mila felt that it was far too risky. There were the more violent ways, of course, but they seemed too likely to make her go the same way as the egg. 

Evening crept closer. The heating of the house clicked in the walls, changing to a lower setting for the night. Mila hated how cold she felt. She craved heat like she had craved _losha_ beets. Perhaps there was something in them that her body needed, she thought. That thought sparked another one. She went up to her room, to the control panel. With a few commands, she disabled the heating in her room. When she went to bed, she chose her thinnest night-gown and put aside all but one blanket. She felt how she was losing heat. The cold pulled her down, putting her to sleep.

***

When she woke up, she could barely open her eyes. Her body encased her, no longer part of her but an immobile thing. She tried to move her arms or her legs. Nothing. Then she attempted to move her fingers – pleaded with them to move. She felt them twitch. With a huge effort, she forced her eyes open. She was on her side, and her hand lay on the pillow beside her. She had never seen her skin so darkened before. Again, she commanded her fingers to move. This time, they flexed. Next, she moved her toes, then her feet. At first, she just moved them one by one, forward and backwards, then rubbed them together. The petrification was receding, but slowly. It must have taken almost an hour until she had worked up enough warmth simply by rubbing her skin to sit up. She could barely stand, but through sheer will, she got to her feet. She walked leaning against the wall to the bathroom. Turning the tap required so much strength she feared she would break her fingers. Still in her night-gown, she climbed into the bathtub. The water felt warm for her, but she knew that in normal circumstances, it would be cold. She let it run until the tub was full. The shirt billowed in the water, trying to float to the surface. She should take it off, but she was still too weak to raise her arms over her head. She kept it on as she lay back.

Ever so slowly, sensation started coming back. The fog cleared, and the foolishness of what she had tried to do dawned on her. How close had she come to complete paralysis? It was a wonder she had woken when she did, and had been able to move. Now, she pushed the floating gown down until her hand rested on her stomach. 

‘Are you still there?’ It was no more than a whisper. She could still feel the curve of her belly and the shell inside it. Perhaps the hypothermia had disrupted the process enough to make the egg unviable, but perhaps not. Only after she had spoken did she realise what she had said. By addressing it, she had acknowledged what it was and might become. When she several days later could still feel the shell hardening, she knew she would not try anything like that again. However hateful the idea was to her, she would lay that egg.

***

No one had ever described to Mila what incubating an egg felt like. Her mother had taught her how to tell she was gravid and she had been present at several layings, but not once during the eleven gravidities she had gone through during Mila’s childhood had she explained what the experience was like. She had been able to surmise some things, like how her mother made her pick up things she dropped and the way she rubbed her lower back.

But even if her mother had told her what to expect, it would not have prepared her. Every day, the shell of the egg grew harder and took on more of its intended form, and with every day, the symptoms grew worse. Pain shot through her hip-joints. The muscles of her back ached. The egg pushed against her bladder, forcing her to leave her work to relieve herself several times an hour. The bouts of exhaustion only got more frequent, to the point that she had taken to doing the sewing half-lying on the bed. The skin on her belly burned and itched as it stretched. Soon enough, thin reddish lines appeared where the lower layers had broken. Mila knew when she saw them that they would not go away, at least not without treatment. They would fade, given time, but even if she got rid of the egg once she had laid it, they would be there for Tain to spot. 

She should have realised this could happen – should have done something to prevent it. What a fool she had been, assuming it would not. She only got what she deserved. At the same time, that small voice in her head whose allegiance was to her and no one else whispered about Tain’s part in it. Mila pushed it aside, silencing it with more work. At night, she dreamed of walking towards her family’s farm with an egg in her arms. However long she walked, she never came closer. Once, Tolan came outside and looked out over the fields. She called his name, but he turned away, disappearing from view. 

The end of it took her by surprise. That morning, she felt a little better than before, although her groin was oddly sore. It was bad enough that she decided against sitting and worked on preparing the preserves for winter standing up. The first few times, it was only a twinge, barely enough to register. She was used to her body feeling strange by now, and did not pay it any heed. Then, without warning, it was stronger. The _jumja_ fruit she had been holding rolled out of her hand as the pain made her double over. She grabbed the edge of the workbench, fighting to breathe. It felt like her body might rip in two. But as fast as it had come, it receded. She pushed herself up, gasping for air. Her hand went to her belly. The egg sat lower than it had yesterday – much lower. 

For a moment, she panicked. The house’s emptiness was not a blessing anymore. She was so horribly alone. She wished she was back with her family, where her mother and her sisters could help her through this. But this was how it would be. When a man from the city had come to ask them questions about the local squire’s opinions and actions, she had been the one to offer information. She had helped him, sneaking into the mansion and smuggling out ledgers and diaries under her petticoats. She wanted to serve the State, and she wanted to serve him. He took her virginity in the disused outbuilding on her family’s farm, the evidence that would sentence the land-owner to death lying beside them. In the tumult that followed the squire’s arrest and execution, Mila’s bad name had been a minor detail to most of the village. To her parents, it blotted out any patriotic acts she had done. When the man she had lain with came back to go through the mansion’s contents, Mila had hung around, trying to show she was useful. Finally he had taken her with him, away from her family, but not from the shame. She might be a servant of the State, however indirectly, but she had let Tain take her to his bed, and that made her little better than a whore. She would lay her bastard egg alone, without anyone to comfort her. 

She wondered if she should move, to her room or to the bathroom perhaps. Then she remembered how lengthy these things often were. There had been times when it had taken two days before her mother laid the egg. She straightened up, rolled her shoulders back and collected the _jumja_ that had rolled off the cutting-board. If she put it off, the fruit might be too ripe for making compote. 

When the next contraction came, she was still holding the knife. The pain caused her to cut the fruit at an odd angle, narrowly avoiding her fingers. Mila let go. The knife clattered against the wooden board. She watched the way the lamp overhead reflected in the blade. It was something to concentrate on as she braced herself against the workbench. The pain went on longer than she had expected. It tore at her, trying to force the egg out. Beneath her, her knees trembled, so badly she thought she would fall. When the contraction passed, she lowered herself down. First she sat on her knees, then on her hip. She tried to breathe slower. Far sooner than she had expected, the pain started up again. She pushed her fist against her mouth, trying not muffle her scream. 

With fumbling hands, Mila took the shawl she had around her shoulders and bundled it up. Then she untied her apron and covered the shawl with it. It would have to do to cushion the egg. She scooted over to a chair and got to her feet with its support. She held onto the work-bench as she made her way towards the sink. She washed her hands and wet a towel, wrapping them in a dry one. Then she lowered herself onto the floor. She had seen this being done enough times that she knew what to do. Taking off her underwear, she bent her knees and bunched her skirts up. Her head fell back against the cupboard. Staring at the ceiling, she pressed a finger into her _ajan_. It hurt, but slipped in easier than she had expected. She pushed it in to the second joint, when it met something hard and rounded. She removed her finger. Next time the pain came, Mila forced herself onto her hands and knees and pushed. 

She could feel it now, forcing its way through her body. It pushed at the walls of her _ajan_ , making her howl in pain. She sunk down onto her elbows, her forehead resting against her arms. A trickle ran down her thigh. Her first thought was that it was urine, but it felt too thick. The egg might have broken, and this was albumen. She reached back and touched it. Her fingers came away red. A chill ran through her. Then another contraction came, blotting it out. When she pushed, she felt the blood dripping. 

The egg was descending fast now. She moved towards the chair and stood on her knees, putting the bundle of cloth under her. As she planted her elbows on the seat of the chair and pulled herself up, she wondered why she bothered with the bundle. What should she care if the egg fell onto the stone floor and cracked? But she did care, enough that the thought of that was as frightening as the blood. The egg pressed against the ridges of her introitus. It forced the tissues apart. When she reached down, she felt the egg protruding. Was there more blood now? She looked down at herself. The insides of her thighs were covered in it. The ridges were stretched absurdly around the vertex of the egg. She pushed, watching how the egg slowly moved out of her, like a bubble out of a child’s blowing-wand. It stretched her until she thought it would break her pelvis apart. She felt how it tore the membranes of her cloaca. She screwed up her eyes and bit down. The egg still moved, turning the tears into wounds. 

Then, suddenly, the pressure stopped. The egg reached its thickest point, with only the narrower base still inside her body. It fell into the bundle of the shawl and apron. Mila gasped for breath. Exhausted, she pushed away the chair and lay down. Her insides felt like they were ribbons – her genitals throbbed. She lay frozen, staring at the egg. It was hard to rationalise that it had been inside her, or that this inoffensive thing had caused her so much pain. It lay on its side, streaked with blood and faeces in the make-shift nest of soiled cloth. Mila pushed herself up onto her elbow. She could just about reach the towel she had wet. It had started drying, but was still damp. Unable to support herself, she lay down again and pulled the bundle closer. Her hand trembled with exhaustion as she wiped off the egg. She could see the shell better now. It was white, but small blue speckles sat in clusters. They said that leaders hatched out of blue-speckled eggs. 

‘Perhaps you’ll be someone important,’ she said. ‘However that’d work.’ 

She had never thought of it like this before. She had been so preoccupied with the egg that she had almost forgotten what came next. There was a seed inside that shell that would grow into a child, a child that was hers. Exhausted and bleeding on the kitchen floor, she felt an odd joy wash over her and mingle with her terror. She leaned her head against the egg and wept, frightened and happy all at the same time.

***

Mila had thought that once she had laid the egg, things would go back to normal. Her body would be hers again. As long as she hid the egg and did not let Tain see the stretch-marks on her belly, it could be like none of this ever happened. The reality was nothing like it. She would not stop bleeding. Often, it was bad enough she bled through the pad, staining her skirts. Sitting down was almost impossible, relieving herself was agony. When she finally dared to find a mirror and look, the wounds were red and weeping.

‘This is all your fault, you little bastard,’ she said to the egg. Immediately, she felt bad. She could not blame the egg and the hatchling inside it, probably not larger than the claw on her little finger. It was her fault and, though she did not dare to think it consciously, Tain’s. But it was easier to blame the egg. 

Still, she felt a tenderness she had never felt before. Once she had regained some of her strength after the laying, she had washed the egg properly until there was not a stain left on it. She then placed it in a large pot which she had padded with soft towels. Most eggs would be kept in a proper nest, a piece of furniture often handed down through the family. Mila herself had hatched in the same whicker nest as Tolan and her other siblings. She imagined that Tain’s eggs by his wife waited to hatch lying on velvet bedding in a nest made from rare wood. The pot was the best Mila could come up with, and it had handles so she could take it with her. She kept it in her room at night, just by her bed, then carried it down to the kitchen in the mornings. The chores she could do were few. She had trouble walking, so going to the market for more fruit to make preserves from was not possible. She did not dare climb ladders, so the thorough dusting of the library she had planned was out of the question. She fell back on sewing, sitting awkwardly tipped onto one hip in an old armchair. At times, she did not even have the strength for that. Then, she simply sat, the pot at her feet. She would talk to the egg, complaining about how she felt or commenting on the weather. Sometimes she felt like saying _do you know what your father will do to you when he finds out about you?_ but it was too vile. Instead, she sang to it.

> The spring storm is over  
>  The wind’s gone to bed.  
>  The glade’s green with clover,  
>  The cattle’s been fed. 
> 
> And the little one’s sleeping  
>  In the nest made from leaves  
>  As the moons come here creeping  
>  From behind all the trees. 
> 
> There now, my darling, sleep in your shell,  
>  Hear the ring of the bell,  
>  Know all is well.  
>  There now, my baby, lie in your nest,  
>  As the Sun’s in the West  
>  Sleep now and rest. 
> 
> Your mother will watch you  
>  And quench all alarm,  
>  And your father will keep you  
>  Away from all harm: 
> 
> The mountain-beast’s sharp teeth,  
>  The wail of the stream,  
>  The great ocean’s vast reef  
>  He’ll ward off while you dream. 

She could not remember how the third verse went, so she sang the second verse again. It was a comforting illusion, better at least than the reality.

***

Five days after she laid the egg, Mila mopped the floor in the kitchen for the fourth time. She still thought she could make out the blood-stains, but perhaps she was just imagining it.

‘You ruin my body, you ruin the floor,’ she muttered to the egg. ‘And you haven’t even hatched yet.’ In fact, she was not sure the embryo even had limbs or a brain or a heart yet. There was probably something about it in Tain’s library, but she did not dare to take the books off the shelves.

She was just wringing the mop out when the comm-console chimed. She looked at it, half thinking she had imagined it. No communications had come through since Tain left – everyone knew that he was at the estate. The chime came again. Mila put the mop down and crossed to the console. 

A thin, haughty face appeared on the screen. Mila planted her hands on the console for support. Even like this, Tain’s house steward was an imposing presence. 

‘Mister Cantok.’ 

He nodded curtly. 

‘Mila. I hope you have kept the town house in order in the master’s absence.’ 

‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course.’ It was a lie. Over the last octad, she had not cleaned or dusted. The carpets had not been whipped and only half of the curtains she had meant to wash had been done. 

‘Good,’ Cantok said, the cadence of his voice not changing at all. ‘Because master Tain is returning to town today.’ 

Mila had to stop herself from repeating the last word. She forced the shock from showing. She had thought she had more time.

‘When is he arriving?’ 

‘Within the hour, providing they did not meet with any delay,’ Cantok said. ‘I expect you will greet him properly.’ 

‘Of course, Mister Cantok.’ 

The comm-line broke. Mila stared at the point where the steward’s face had been for a long moment. Then she turned and looked at the egg. She crossed the kitchen and picked up the pot.

‘I’m sorry, little one,’ she whispered. ‘I hope you don’t mind small spaces.’ She carried it over to the pot cupboard, found a lid that fit and put it inside. When she turned her back to it, the house expanded around her. The dust on the sideboards glared, the unfilled preserve jars screamed. Beyond the kitchen walls, she felt aware of the undarned clothes, the undone beds, the unmopped floors. 

Mila drew a deep breath. She had less than an hour. Tain would not see the kitchen, and perhaps he would not go into the library or the parlour today. Those rooms would have to wait. Closing the kitchen door behind her, she headed to the linen room. Her arms full with sheets, she hurried up to Tain’s bedroom. She made the bed, not letting the pain she was in slow her down. It got worse as she swept the floor and wiped down the most visible shelves, but she could not let herself heed it. When she hurried downstairs again and fetched the mop and a fresh pail of water, she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. The pain spiked every time she breathed too deeply. She thought there was blood on her thighs, but it would have to wait. She mopped the hallway twice before it would pass a cursory inspection. She was emptying the pail when she heard the sound of a skimmer, too close to simply be passing. Her stomach did a somersault. She put the half-full pail down and hurried to the sink. She scrubbed her hands fast and grabbed a towel, drying her hands and leaving it on a chair just at the kitchen door. She hurried upstairs, taking the stairs at a run. Through the window, she saw the skimmer parked outside the door. Skotar got out and rounded the skimmer to open the door. Mila looked away, pulling herself up straight. Her pulse throbbed in her head. She strained to hear the sound of footsteps through the door. When she made them out through the door, she reached out to unlock it. 

She held the door open, stepping aside and bowing her head. The footsteps changed character as they passed over the threshold, onto the marble floor. She felt his presence before she saw him. 

‘Mila.’ 

She curtsied, her face still turned down. 

‘Welcome back, sir.’ Now, she raised her head a little. Tain was standing close enough to touch, his eyes boring into her. Skotar was just outside the door, bags with both hands. 

‘Thank you, Mila,’ Tain said, not looking away from her. She met his gaze.

‘We didn’t expect you back so soon, sir.’ 

‘There is business I have to attend to here in the capital.’ His eyes seemed to pierce her. Mila stared back, as if it would shield her.

Then, a loud gasp. Tain’s head whipped around. 

‘What the hell was that, Skotar?’ 

Skotar stared, mouth open. 

‘I’m sorry, sir, but…’ He pointed. Tain looked down at the floor. Something in him changed. Mila knew what they saw even before she looked down and saw the trickle of blood soaking into her shoe. 

‘Skotar,’ Tain said. ‘I think you’d better call a doctor.’ 

The chauffeur stood frozen for a moment. 

‘Yes, sir. Right away.’ 

He put the bags down and pushed past Mila. She watched as he sprinted into the house, out of sight. Tain kicked the door shut. His hand closed around her arm. With one yank, he pulled her off-balance, making her stumble. She cried out, but he did not heed her. Not even looking at her, he pulled her towards the stairs. She staggered along, knowing the alternative was being dragged. The hand around her arm pressed so hard that when her foot slipped on the stair and she almost fell, the tendons objected. She screamed. 

‘Shut up, you little bitch,’ Tain growled. He let go of her arm and grabbed her by the hair instead. When she stumbled again, he took her under the arm, pulling her up the stairs. She was weeping by the time he flung the door to the room open. He threw her to the floor. Too weak to catch herself, she fell against the bed. 

‘You thought you could hide this from me, Mila?’ he hissed. ‘Thought I wouldn’t notice it?’ 

Mila did not answer. However much she tried, she could not form words between the sobs. She braced herself for the inevitable blows, but they did not come. Instead, Tain turned her his back and stalked further into the room. He threw open the wardrobe, her clothes chest, her drawers. Every dress was pulled off its hanger, every piece of clothing tossed out of its place, every trinket and memento carelessly flung out of the cupboards. Mila fought for enough breath to plead with him to stop, but she could not find it. 

‘Where is it!?’ he roared. ‘Where did you hide it, you miserable cunt!?’ When she did not speak, he slapped her. She sank further down onto the floor. Weakly, she raised her arm, but Tain was already barging out of the room. Straining her ears, she heard him running through the house. Fear surged inside her. _Please, don’t let him find it._ She pushed herself to her feet, but as soon as it had possessed her, the energy dissipated. Her legs shook underneath her. Afraid she might fall, she lowered herself onto the bed and lay down. She went as still as possible and listened. There was the clatter of metal vessels and the sound of porcelain breaking. She could hear him pulling out the crockery and throwing it aside. _I can’t protect it, and it’s not even hatched._ She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Her breathing drowned out the noise from downstairs. 

The door opened. Mila opened her eyes and pushed herself up. It was not Tain, as she had expected, but a woman carrying a large case. Skotar was hovering in the corridor, staring at Mila with wide eyes. The doctor closed the door. 

‘You’re the girl?’ she said. Mila hesitated, not understanding at first. Then she nodded. The doctor put her bag on the bed. ‘Lie down. Underclothes off, skirts up. No fussing.’ 

Clumsily, Mila peeled the blood-soaked clothes from her skin, then sank back. She put her hands over her eyes as her legs were nudged apart. The doctor did not speak to her, only tutted and sighed as she worked. Little by little, Mila let her hands slip from her face. She was in too much pain to feel shame. It coursed up into her torso and down through her hips. But none of it mattered. The clattering from downstairs had stopped. She bit back a sob. The image of Tain grinding the broken shell of her egg into the floor was before her eyes. 

The doctor tutted a final time, pulled down Mila’s skirts and collected her instruments. She stepped through the door and spoke to someone outside. 

‘She’ll need surgery, but she’ll live. Probably. I’ll make the arrangements.’ 

‘Good.’

The hinges creaked. Mila turned her head. Through the blur of tears, she saw Tain, holding a pot by its ears. 

‘Did you really not think I was going to look in the pots, Mila?’ He approached and put it down on the bed. She heard a whine escape her. ‘What did you hope to get out of this? Were you planning to bring about a scandal?’ 

Mila shook her head. 

‘I didn’t do anything,’ she whispered. ‘I never meant to…’ 

‘Well.’ Tain crouched down and placed the pot on the floor. ‘It’s not important now.’ He lifted the lid. The egg lay there, still wrapped in its towels. The whine died in her throat. Shaking, she reached out and touched it. Tain grabbed her by the wrist. 

‘Please, sir… Enabran…’ 

She looked him in the eye, hoping against hope to find some affection there. She could see none. 

‘Never lie to me again,’ he said. She had never heard his voice sound so cold. ‘Or I’ll kill it.’ 

She swallowed. 

‘You’ll let me keep it?’ she whispered. 

Tain shrugged. 

‘Yes. For now.’ He looked down at the blue-speckled egg. ‘Besides, I’m curious what will come of it.’


End file.
